Breathless
by UnofficialBrideOfPeregrinTook
Summary: Thorin finds Frerin on the battlefield in the aftermath of the Battle of Azanulbizar and offers what comfort he can to his dying brother. One-shot.


**_Breathless_**

His hands shook. His mind reeled. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him. A red sun set behind Caradhras, red as the runnels of dwarvish blood that stained the ash-heap that remained of Azanulbizar. Blood seeped from his temple and ran down the length of his sharp jaw; jagged splinters cut into his shield arm like dozens of newly-sharpened daggers. Weighed down with fatigue, he dragged his wounded body across the battlefield, marveling that he was still able to stand upright.

_I should be dead,_ he thought.

Thorin bit at his bottom lip, fighting desperately to constrain his raging emotions.

They had lost too many. His grandfather torn apart by Azog as if he were a rotting piece of meat. His father, unheard from. Most likely lying face-down in the russet muck of mud and blood smeared across the stony ground, waiting to be found. And his brother—

_Dear Mahal…_

"Frerin!" his deep voice, hoarse from battle-cries and deep with exhaustion, echoed helplessly across the ravine.

"Frerin!"

He had been afraid when the dragon attacked, when he marched to the ancient gates of Moria, when he faced down the Defiler, but he had refused to show it. Even with dragon fire or Orc arrows and maces raining down on him, his face had remained as calm and unwavering as the stone he now stood on. He had sworn he'd never let his people see him afraid.

And no, they wouldn't.

They would see him completely and hopelessly _terrified._

"Frerin!" he screamed again.

"Thorin?" a murmur, mangled and torn as the body it escaped from, limped into earshot from somewhere around Thorin's left boot.

He froze. _It can't be._

But it was.

"Thorin!" the haggard whimper coughed again.

He felt the color drain from his face. His shaking hands went cold as his heart iced over with fear. Disbelief fogged his perception as he forced his eyes to the rubble next to him.

To the crippled shell of a body that he barely recognized as his brother's.

He hardly heard his sword clank to the ground. Hardly winced when his knees gave out from beneath him and crashed into the dirt. Hardly noticed the bile sting at the back of his throat when he glanced at his brother's wounds. He reached in front of him and gathered a mangled Frerin into his arms, as if he were trapped within a perpetual nightmare.

"Th-Thorin—"

"Lie still," Thorin whispered, brushing a piece of blood-soaked honey-blonde hair out of Frerin's face. "I'm here. You're safe now."

A trembling hand caught hold of Thorin's. "Are they… are they gone? I-Is Azog dead?"

Thorin nodded, forcing a smile as hot tears rose to his eyes. "I killed him myself," he reassured.

"I was looking for Father," Frerin choked hastily. "I… I thought I saw him run towards the woods after one of the orcs. I tried to follow him, Thorin. But—"

"Say no more, little brother," Thorin gently chided, his deep voice trembling. "Try to save your strength. We need to get you back to camp before—"

"No."

Thorin blinked. "What?"

"I… I can't… I _won't_…You—" Frerin sighed, seeming to reach deep inside himself to find the strength to talk. "I don't think you can save me, Thorin—"

"Do not say such things!" Thorin nearly roared. "They've already taken my grandfather and probably my father." He shook his head defiantly, biting his lip till blood drew to stifle a sob. "They will not take my brother!"

His eyes locked with Frerin's as he pulled him closer. "Do you hear me?" he begged, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "They _will not _take you from me! They _can't_…."

Frerin took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes drooping with exhaustion as his head sank into the crook of his older brother's arm.

"Frerin, no!" Thorin implored, giving his brother a shake. "Look at me!"

Frerin coughed, a little bit of blood trickling from his nose as his eyes flickered open and drifted past his brother's shrouded face and into the sky.

"Thorin," he murmured, weakly smiling. "The stars are out."

Thorin's brow furrowed.

"Look."

Slowly, Thorin's blurred gaze followed where Frerin's darkening eyes weakly peered into the sky, which was completely peppered with stars. He smiled. The stars had captivated Frerin's imagination since he was a small boy, and he and his siblings had spent many a cool night sitting in Erebor's ramparts listening to their grandfather's stories, wrapped in warm blankets and lost in their own creative thought as he told them of far off lands and battles fought long ago.

Thorin had lost count of how many times a young Frerin had drifted to sleep in his lap, the boy's small head nestled in the crook of his arm. Sleepily, the dwarfling would point to a constellation and beg for the story that went with it, even when he had it memorized and was not afraid to correct anyone if they left something out or messed something up.

"I see Durin's Crown," Frerin whispered, his gloved finger weakly pointing to the constellation. "We're not far from the Mirrormere, are we?"

"See for yourself," Thorin gently replied, nodding towards the valley that sloped down to their left.

Frerin's head rolled to the side, and his fleeting breath caught in his throat. "That's it!" he softly cried, his features flooding with a boyish wonder as an excited smile stretched across his face. "Thorin—"

Though biting back tears, Thorin chuckled. "I saw it this afternoon, when the sun hung high in the sky," he said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his trembling lips. "And—"

"Do the old tales and songs ring true?" Frerin asked, his paling face shining with excitement. "Could you still see the stars reflected in it?"

Thorin nodded, smiling as his little brother's piercing blue eyes widened. "I couldn't see anyone's reflections in it, either."

Frerin beamed. "And everyone else thought it to be just a fairy story," he chuckled, his face twisting as his laughter morphed into a haggard cough. "I knew it was true," he added, his voice dropping to a weakened whisper as his eyes began to droop. "I… I just _knew_ it…." He took a deep breath as his body began to shake. "Thorin?"

"I'm here," Thorin replied, fighting to hold himself together as his brother began to slip away.

"You… You'll give my love to Dís, w-won't you? And the others?"

Thorin nodded, a few tears escaping from his eyes. "Of course I will," he whispered.

"L-Look after her, brother. For me…"

"I will. I promise."

"Good."

Thorin forced a smile and blinked back tears.

"You… You'll have to tell me of your adventures when next we meet," Frerin breathed. "I've a feeling they are far from over." A smile stretched across his face as his weakened body sank into the safety of his brother's arms. "I'll be waiting for you, brother. I…."

His glazed eyes drifted back to the stars, and Thorin could tell his little brother could no longer see him.

"Frerin?" Thorin nearly whimpered.

But Frerin didn't respond.

"Frerin, no" Thorin begged, helplessly giving his brother a shake as tears began to stream down his face. "No, no, no! _Please!_" His blood suddenly ran cold; his heart all but stopped in his chest. "Don't…." he sighed, fighting desperately to hold himself together.

_They can't see me like this. They'll lose hope. They can't—_

His eyes flicked to Frerin's lifeless face, and he crumpled to the ground, sobbing.

The witty banter. The relentless, good-natured teasing. The smile that even the Arkenstone in all of its splendor could not outshine.

It… It was just _gone…._

His entire body trembling, Thorin gingerly brushed a piece of Frerin's hair out of his face. He tipped his head up to the sky, where Durin's Crown still brightly shone. A grief-stricken smile slowly edged across his face as he softly crooned part of Frerin's favorite song:

_The world is grey, the mountains old,_

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_

_The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;_

_The shadow lies upon his tomb_

_In Moria, in Khazad-dûm._

_But still the sunken stars appear_

_In dark and windless Mirrormere;_

_There lies his crown in water deep,_

_Till Durin wakes again from sleep _

"And now every time I hear of this place," Thorin whispered, "or if ever I should relay the tale and see the wonder in a young one's eyes, I will always think of you." He bent and kissed Frerin's forehead. "Be at peace, little brother. Until we meet again."


End file.
